


The Duke and The Scientist

by Vegetatarian



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: 19th Century, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama, Eventual Romance, F/M, Period Piece, Romance, Vegeta being Vegeta (Dragon Ball), Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:08:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28960710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vegetatarian/pseuds/Vegetatarian
Summary: A period piece with our favorites. Bulma is betrothed to a kind man named Yamcha, and while she’d be fine with marrying him, she’s hoping to find her TRUE love before having to settle. At her first ball announcing the courtship between she and Yamcha, she meets a Duke who takes her breath away. But, first impressions aren’t always accurate.
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta, Bulma Briefs/Yamcha, Chi-Chi/Son Goku (Dragon Ball), Dr. Briefs/Panchy Briefs
Comments: 10
Kudos: 35





	1. The Duke

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GetasGirl_x](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GetasGirl_x/gifts), [okieday17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/okieday17/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Dark Duke](https://archiveofourown.org/works/216988) by [okieday17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/okieday17/pseuds/okieday17). 



> I’ve been reading The Dark Duke by okieday17 and I fell so in love with it! It inspired this work which started as a YouTube comment on a video called “songs to waltz to with your enemy”. PLEASE PLEASE go read okieday17’s story— it’s SO good. Also, okieday17, if you’re reading this, I’m gifting this piece to you as well as my dear friend GetasGirl_x in the hopes of giving you a good swoon. Thank you so much!

“Mother, why don’t boys have to wear corsets? I think they should work just as hard to be attractive as we do.” Bulma Briefs said frustratedly as her ladies maids tightened her corset. 

She was 18 years old and getting ready for a ball that evening. She was to dance with her betrothed for the very first time out in public to announce they had officially begun courting. Yamcha was a splendid enough man, and each time she’d spoken to him, he’d been polite and treated her like a proper lady should be treated. Normally, a betrothed pair would have begun courting sooner, but Bulma had refused to do anything of the sort until her eighteenth birthday because she’d wanted to study with her father, and Yamcha didn’t seem to mind in the least. 

There were so many dreadful times she had to listen to him go on for hours about baseball— a new sport that had very recently become a popular pastime for many to watch, and others still to participate in. Still, though she’d often endure him going on about things she truly didn’t care much about, he afforded her the same kindness. When she’d go off on a tangent about her father’s inventions and how she thought she could help improve him, he’d been the only man not to write her off for being  _ just a woman _ . 

She knew many people were content with marrying someone they more or less got along with, but she’d secretly read romance novels in her nanny’s study, and had new wild ideas of the whirlwind romance she longed for. But, to her misfortune, she had an obligation to Yamcha, and for the sake of her parents, she would behave and do as she must, which was decidedly  _ not _ something she made a habit of. 

“Well, my dear, men work hard in other ways. Like reading, writing, and business, and sometimes fine clothing.” Panchy said, working on her cross stitch. she looked up as Bulma’s gown was being adjusted. “Oh, darling! You look splendid. Absolutely splendid. You’ll be the envy of every girl in town. Oh, how lovely an evening it will be!” 

“That’s all fine and well, mother, but I  _ will  _ find my true love soon. Long before I have to settle on Yamcha. He’s a perfectly suitable gentleman but he’s rather bland to speak to.” Bulma sighed. “I need someone who makes my womanhood tremble and my mind stimulated.” 

“Bulma! Where did you learn such a phrase? How unbecoming!” Panchy blushed, fanning her face. 

“Does father not have that effect on you?” Bulma asked knowingly. 

“Your father and I were lucky enough to be madly in love from the day we met, but that simply isn’t the case most of the time. Yes, he has that effect on me, and I think it’s lovely for you to desire that, but it shouldn’t be spoken of so freely!” Panchy scolded. 

“Yes, mother.” She sighed. 

“Now, let’s go downstairs and show your father how lovely you look in that off white color with those pearls sewn into the netting of your ballgown!” Panchy said, gesturing to the door of the room. 

Being raised in London had its perks, and fashion was one of Bulma’s very favorites. She stood straight and glide-stepped all the way down the staircase, making a flawless entrance to the main sitting room. 

“My goodness, what a lovely young lady. And Miss, do you have any interest in engineering?” Dr Briefs asked his daughter teasingly, earning a giggle from her. 

“Why yes, as a matter of fact I do. My father happens to be the  _ second _ smartest person in all of the world. Of course I hold the first place title.” She curtseyed, laughing as he father gasped in mock offense. 

“You really do look pretty, my dear. Cream is quite becoming on you.” Ha said, his fluffy lavender mustache wiggling as he spoke. 

“I’m so glad we chose the netting sleeves with lace trim. Very ahead of their time in the world of fashion.” Panchy said approvingly, sighing in satisfaction of how beautiful her daughter was. “Oh! Dear let me put your golden hair pin in.” 

She retrieved the pin and slid it into Bulma’s blue hair which was pinned up in a delicate bun. “And finished. Now you look absolutely perfect.” 

Just as Bulma opened her mouth to respond, there was a knock at the door and she sighed heavily, knowing it was Yamcha’s carriage. At least he wouldn’t be in it. She smiled at her parents before gracefully making her way to and into the carriage. “Goodbye Mother, goodbye, Father. I’ll return with my true love.” 

They returned warm smiles and waved as the carriage headed for the ball. 

_ Good heavens, what am I to do? I will no doubt be dancing with lots of handsome men this evening. Should I dance with as many as I can, or should I sit some out and just see who looks interesting? _ Bulma had an inner discussion with herself until finally the carriage stopped. 

“Bulma, you look lovely.” Yamcha said, greeting her as she walked through the door. 

She tried her best not to groan or roll her eyes at the tiresome compliment. In fact, she was rather certain that if just  _ one _ more person called her lovely that evening, she would scream and let them take her away to wherever crazy women were dragged away to. Her mother had already said it a million and a half times. Sometimes it was difficult having a better vocabulary at one's disposal than everyone else. Conversation became so wearily predictable. 

“Why thank you, Yamcha. What a pleasant compliment, and definitely the first of its kind this evening.” She said, putting her hand in his as they walked into the ballroom together. Was she being unfair? Of course she was, not everyone could think of sixteen different synonyms for ‘lovely’ immediately like she could. Did she think it was her responsibility to be unwaveringly tolerant of such lackadaisical conversation? Not particularly, no. 

But, the comment seemed to go over his head anyway, so her rude comment had hardly done her any good besides reminding her to watch her tongue around these other men. God forbid one of them was actually well read and well studied and could hold a genuine conversation with her. Though, she supposed she should be thankful for Yamcha’s laid back nature. Despite having something to say about nearly everything, and an inherent need to try and reconstruct  _ everything _ into something better all of the time, Yamcha wasn’t bothered one bit. 

He was so unbothered, in fact, that Bulma was half convinced he had a lover. She wouldn’t particularly mind if he had one, though. She may be required to marry or live forever as an old maid, but at least if he had a lover she’d be required to have relations with him sparingly. She supposed that was a nice benefit considering that most men seemed sexually insatiable, according to her former nanny’s romance novels and all the ladies at the dress shops. 

What bothersome creatures men were, especially since they often expressed the same sentiment toward women. The idea that two sexes could seem to think so little of one another but still find it in themselves to want to get  _ married _ and  _ procreate _ on  _ purpose _ was beyond her. 

They began to dance, and all eyes seemed to be on her. This was not her first season, but all were still enamored by her beauty and grace as she spun around the room. As the dance finished, there was a voice behind her. “May I have the next dance?” 

Bulma turned to see the most dashing man she’d ever seen in her entire life. “Of course.” She said, taking his hand. She took in his handsome face as they danced, noting his dark eyes and the mystery that lurked behind them as he looked about the room. When he finally glanced at her, she looked away, suddenly embarrassed. “I’m Bulma.” She said, cursing herself for feeling shy so suddenly. 

A small amused smile appeared on his lips. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bulma. I saw you this evening and couldn’t help but think how—.”

“Lovely I look? I'm sorry sir, but if you use the word lovely I will absolutely scream. I’ve heard the same stale compliment about a thousand times this evening. I can’t bear it one more moment.” She said, interrupting him, and quickly gasping in embarrassment. 

He chuckled. “Actually I was going to say how odd you are among this crowd.” 

She looked at him with a surprised frown. “I do beg your pardon!” She said, clearly missing what he meant. 

“Miss Bulma, do you really think it normal to see such a beautiful woman dancing among a room full of plain women?” He clarified with a knee-weakening smirk. “Also, I feel I should inform you that your partner for tonight as it were, has danced with the same lady about four times this evening.” 

“I don’t care, to be quite honest. Just because we were promised to one another doesn’t mean I have  _ feelings _ for him. He’s nice enough, but I’m hunting for a particular kind of man.” She shrugged, now more comfortable speaking to this handsome man. 

“Oh? And what might this particular kind of man be like?” He asked, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. 

“Handsome, of course. He has to be absolutely handsome.” Bulma said, earning a snort from the man. 

“Oh, of course.” 

“He’s got to have an intellect to challenge my own. I can’t be wasting away as I try to have conversations with him, now can I? He’s got to be intelligent for sure.” She said, mind now wandering. 

“Intelligence in a partner is always a good idea. I find it embarrassing when other people aren’t well read or studied.” He agreed. 

“And he has to make me swoon. Or at least come close. I’ve never swooned.” Bulma said proudly. 

He laughed at that. “That’s quite impressive, considering most of the women in here have swooned about eighty times since they’ve arrived.” 

And before they knew it, the dance had ended and the man bowed before turning to walk away. 

“Wait,” Bulma said, touching his arm, “I must know your name.” 

He smirked, flashing pristine white teeth. “Duke Vegeta, my lady. Good evening.” He said before walking away. 

_ Duke!? _

“I had no idea, your grace!” She said, curtseying. 

“Good, then I managed to go somewhat unnoticed, even if by one woman.” He said. “For someone who seems to think she’s intelligent, you’re rather unobservant, aren’t you?” 

Bulma frowned at him. “Well how am I to know who is a prince or a duke when I’ve spent most of my life studying science? I don’t have time to worry about everyone’s title.” She crossed her arms petulantly. 

He laughed a genuine laugh, making heat rise to Bulma’s cheeks. “That’s quite an attitude to possess when you’re trying to find a particular kind of man, don’t you think?”

She thought it over for a moment. “Not at all. My perfect man would understand completely why I am the way I am.” She turned up her nose with a  _ hmph _ , and the prince grinned. 

“Well, dear lady, I do hope you have a fine rest of your evening. And, Miss Bulma,” he said, tipping her chin up so she was looking in his eyes. “We’ll be seeing each other soon, so do let me know if you’ve found that  _ particular  _ kind of man. I’d love to know.” With that, he walked away and left her standing, flabbergasted. 

Bulma eventually wove through the crowd to find an empty hallway with a lounge seat where she all but threw herself. She was exhausted already, and that frustratingly alluring man had put her under his spell right before leaving. And what did he mean they’d be seeing each other soon? Men were exhausting. 


	2. The Tea Party

It was pouring rain, and all Bulma wanted was to run outside and play in it, but she knew better. Her mother would have a fit if she ruined her new gown in the mud. So, instead, she carried her cat, Tama, around the halls of their grand home as she tried to figure out how to make pens that didn’t require dipping. Earlier that week she’d spilled ink all over her favorite day dress, and it had been nearly impossible for the maids to get it cleaned. Luckily they caught the stain quick enough, but it made Bulma wonder if there was a way to avoid a pot of ink on one’s table. 

She held Tama up to her face and looked at him. “I suppose if we gave the item some sort of tank to hold its own ink?” 

Tama blinked at her curiously before beginning to purr at her. 

She snuggled into him as she continued to walk. “I suppose you’re right. It would need a way to flow from the thing. And we couldn’t call it a quill, now could we? I have much to think about, Tama.” 

“Miss Bulma! Your mother is calling for you.” A maid said, running to her. 

“Very well, thank you, Claire. Will you please put Tama in my room? He likes to nap in the afternoon.” 

“Of course, Miss.” Claire said, gently taking the cat and walking to Bulma’s bedroom.

Bulma sighed. It was usually because they had company that her mother called for her. The heiress didn’t quite understand why she had to be present for guests that weren’t even hers. She was sure it was only because her mother wanted to show her off to the eligible men who came by their house. For a moment she gasped, wondering if the handsome Duke from the ball had called upon her, and she quickened her pace down the hall before stopping to catch her breath at the top of the staircase, and gracefully gliding down. 

Much to her disappointment, it was not the Duke, but instead, Yamcha. Bulma sighed deeply, not sure why she was surprised. 

“Good afternoon, Yamcha.” She greeted politely, despite her closed off body language. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her smile couldn’t be more fake. As usual, though, Yamcha either didn’t notice, or wasn’t bothered. 

“Good afternoon, my darling. I hope you haven’t forgotten our engagement today? We’re to attend a tea party.” Yamcha said. 

The fact of the matter was not only had she forgotten, she wasn’t dressed properly for the event. “Of course I haven’t forgotten.” She lied through her teeth. 

“Oh, Bulma! You can’t go to a tea party in such a dress! Here, come along and we’ll get you in the proper gown. Yamcha, if you’ll be a dear and wait for us?” Panchy said, waving her hands around every which way. She took Bulma’s hand and guided her back up the stairs where she quickly began rummaging through the wardrobe. “Pink, blue, or yellow, dear?” Panchy asked.

“On this dreary of an afternoon? Perhaps a dark purple, mother.” Bulma said. “Besides, you’re always telling me to wear the purple dress, and now seems to be the proper occasion.” She sat on the edge of her bed, her head in her hand as her elbow balanced on her knee. “Must I go, mother?” 

Panchy spun around, holding the dark purple dress in her hands. “ _ Must _ you? Of course you must! Why ever wouldn’t you want to go?” 

She hesitated at first. “Well if the man I met the other evening doesn’t attend I’ll be positively bored to death. He was quite interesting to speak to, and a Duke, no less.” 

Thinking back to the ball had her cheeks threatening to stain pink as she recalled the way he had tilted her chin up to make her look him in the eyes. She’d never been touched that way, even by Yamcha. It seemed so intimate, yet simple, and it had set her youthful heart ablaze. She quickly wrote it off as simply a physical reaction to being delicately handled by a handsome stranger, but the more she thought about it, the more she wanted to see him again. She was so lost in thought that she hadn’t noticed the way her mother had spun around and run over to her, grabbing her shoulders. 

“You danced with a  _ Duke _ and didn’t tell me!? Bulma this is  _ wonderful _ news! You could have a title as a  _ proper _ lady! Oh just think of it!  _ My _ Bulma, a  _ Duchess _ !” Panchy’s eyes glittered with excitement. “Well that’s all the more reason you  _ must  _ go! I heard whisperings among the ladies that there might be men of a certain influence attending the party! Oh, darling you simply  _ must _ invite the Duke to your birthday party!” 

The blue haired girl couldn’t help but smile. “Yes I suppose you’re right, I can’t miss this event.” She frowned. “I don’t want to hurt Yamcha’s feelings but… he seems rather indifferent toward me as it is, so I suppose it can’t be helped if I find true love, can it?” 

“Of course not, my darling girl. If you fall in love I should think you’ll marry the man you love, even if it isn’t Yamcha, bless him.” Panchy said as she and the maids she had called helped Bulma into the new dress. 

Once she was dressed and ready, she looked at herself in the mirror, admiring the stitching of the flowers on the waist of the dress. She had been blessed with a shapely figure, and the flowers only complimented it more. She took note of the shade of her dress, noting that it was nearly the same color as the grape jam she refused to eat. Strawberry jam was her favorite, but she adored the color of the grape jam.  _ If only I had a gown that color. _ She’d often thought to herself, until one day she finally told her mother she wanted a “grape jam colored dress”. She did a spin and winked at her reflection. 

“Come along, Bulma. Time to go, don’t keep Yamcha waiting.” Panchy said, calling her daughter. 

“Coming, mother.” Bulma said, hurrying down the stairs. She quickly latched onto Yamcha’s arm, and walked out with him to the carriage. 

Bulm watched out the window of the carriage as they rode to the tea party, which Bulma wasn’t even sure where it would be, and she watched the rain pour. She wondered what Yamcha would say or do if she opened the carriage door, leapt out, and ran around in the rain. Probably nothing, she was convinced. She imagined he would simply call to her from the dryness of the carriage, unconvincingly begging her to get back in the carriage. 

“We’re here, Bulma.” 

She looked at him, interrupted from her ponderings. He was already standing outside and looking at her. She reluctantly took his hand as she climbed out, covered by a bright red umbrella, and they made their way to the front doors of the mansion.

“Ah, Yamcha, Miss Bulma! Welcome in, welcome in!” A bald man said. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Tien. How goes the china shop?” Yamcha asked, clapping the man on the shoulder. 

“Oh just fine! Just fine indeed, I have some new pieces, in fact.” Tien smiled. “My word, Miss Bulma, purple is quite a lovely color on you but I’m afraid you’re going to stick out! All of the other ladies chose bright colors.” 

Bulma smirked. “That’s just what I was hoping. You see, Mr. Tien, I’m a  _ trendsetter  _ and I thrive to stick out.” She tugged on her black lace gloves before gathering her skirts and walking ahead of them both amd through the doors of the room in which the party was being held. She gasped when she saw him sitting at the head of the table. 

“Miss Bulma, what a pleasure to see you here. Did I not tell you we’d see each other again soon?” Vegeta spoke. 

“How do you do, everyone?” Bulma halfheartedly asked before waving her hand dismissively. “Anyway, I’m going to have some cake.” She walked back out of the room and headed downstairs to find the kitchen. 

Before she could make it though, she heard her name. 

“Miss Bulma.” 

She spun around with a sour expression on her face. “What?” 

“Woah, what's with the sour attitude? Aren’t you happy to see me?” He asked teasingly. 

“Not in the slightest. Why didn’t you tell me this was your party?” She frowned. 

“Because it isn’t my party. I’m simply a guest of honor.” 

“Oh? And what might we be honoring you for?” 

“Princehood, I assume.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, what? You said you’re a Duke.” 

He chuckled. “Would you have believed me if I’d told you I’m a prince right after a dance with you?” 

She snorted. “Of course not. I suppose I see why you  _ lied _ to me. But does everyone else at the tea party know you’re a prince? I’ve never seen you before last night’s party.”

“They do know, but they’ve only just found out today, most of them. It’s unwise to be alone with a man, though, my dear.” 

She rolled her eyes. “You’re a prince, apparently, so I doubt you’d do anything unbecoming.”

“Naivety is dangerous. Especially since  _ because  _ I’m a prince, I could do  _ anything _ and no one would say anything.” He said, stepping closer. 

“W-well I want to invite you to my birthday party next week.” She nervously blurted out. 

He chuckled. “I’ll be there, then. I’m familiar with your family.” 

For the first time since she’d danced with him, her heart was racing. The way his eyes seemed to stare right through her, and saw everything she tried to keep inside. He leaned forward and smiled at her, their eyes kicked. “But I won’t do anything you don’t want me to, of course. I’d never do anything foul to a lady.” He chuckled as she stared up at him with wide eyes and parted lips. 

Bulma Briefs did not take being teased well in this case. She felt like he was daring her and any of her friends would attest that she never backed down from a challenge. She reached forward, grabbed his coat, and yanked him toward her, slamming her lips against his. Her skin ignited like a spark to gas. His lips were soft, and she could taste the tea he’d been drinking. 

When she released him from the kiss, it was his turn to stare wide eyed with parted lips. She stared at him, shocked at what she’d done, and suddenly pushed him away and ran to the front door of the mansion. She burst through the doors and hurried to the courtyard. It wasn’t raining anymore, but it was cold, and her breath came out in puffs in front of her as she ran. Eventually, she realized she’d run until she’d gotten lost. 

“Perfect.” She groaned, wrapping her arms around herself. She wandered around trying to retrace her steps, now distracted from why she’d escaped the tea party anyway, and completely unaware of how she’d left the prince. 


End file.
